Black as the pupil of an eye, sucking at light
like the pupil of an eye, I love you, far-sighted night.
Give me the voice to sing of you, godmother of every hymn,
you in whose hand lie the bridles of the four winds.
Calling on you, extolling you, I am no more than
a shell where the sea-swell goes on roaring.
Night! I have looked long enough into human eyes.
Now, emblaze me, make ash of me, black-sun-night!
Черная, как зрачок, как зрачок, сосущая
Свет — люблю тебя, зоркая ночь.
Голосу дай мне воспеть тебя, о праматерь
Песен, в чьей длани узда четырех ветров.
Клича тебя, славословя тебя, я только
Раковина, где еще не умолк океан.
Ночь! Я уже нагляделась в зрачки человека!
Испепели меня, черное солнце — ночь!
«As with a straw, you drink the soul from me. / I know, its taste is bitter, strong and heady. / I won’t disturb this torment with a plea. / I’ve been at peace for many weeks already. Say when you’re done. It isn’t sad at all, / At last, my soul has vanished from this earth. / I’...»
«Strange boy, I’ve gone mad at last, / Wednesday, around three! / On my ring finger, a wasp / Stung me angrily. I accidentally squeezed my grip, / And it died, I think, / But sharper than a spindle’s tip / Was its poisoned sting. Strange one, is it you I’ll mourn, / And will you...»
«My legs are useless at the present, / May they become a fish’s tail! / I’m swimming, and the chill is pleasant, / The distant bridge is glowing pale. I’ll give my passive soul away, / Let it be turned to smoke anew, / And light, above the gloomy quay, / It’ll change into a tende...»
«I This morning’s drunk with sunny weather, / And on the terrace, — loud scents of roses, / The sky is brighter than the blue faience. / The notebook’s bound in the soft Morocco leather; / I’m reading in it elegies and verses / All written for my grandma in romance. I see the road...»